


Stand-in

by GoodJanet



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Banter, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Fantasizing, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Friends With Benefits, Gender Roles, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, Little Black Dress, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank insists Dean wear a dress and make-up when he goes to Dean's hotel room. Dean has trouble dealing with the implications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand-in

The panties are kind of small, but he supposes that didn’t matter much. Frank had assured him he wouldn’t be wearing them for very long. Still, he turns in the mirror and wishes they were bigger. Color was nice though. A deep, rich purple that complimented his skin tone.

He leans down to grabs the dress Frank bought for him. It’s simple, black, and low-cut. He’s dressed and undressed his fair share of girls, so shimmying into is easy. He frowns at his reflection and lights a cigarette. This one was definitely made for someone with a full set. Sweet tendrils of heat flourish in his stomach at the idea of the girl who’d wear this gown. She’d have her hair done nice and wear teardrop diamond earrings, and she’d want nothing more than to lift her flowy skirt and climb onto his lap.

Dean bites his lip when he sees the obscene way his anatomy distends his skirt. This was the reason men didn’t wear them, he figures. Dead giveaway. He shakes his head and extinguishes his cigarette in the ash tray on the vanity at which he now sits.

This part was going to be a little tricky. He takes the silver tube from the bag of pre-selected options and finds it to be a fiery red. It’s flashier than he’d choose, but Frank wants what Frank wants. He smears it on carefully. There’s a smudge at the corner of his mouth that he quickly dabs at. Well, it’s close enough. There’s blush and shadow and powder and perfume and mascara in the bag too. Frank was crazy.

He lights another cigarette and finds it fascinating to see a red ring around the filter. The girl of his dreams reappears. She’s sitting on his lap, and she takes the cigarette from him to take a long drag. She puckers her lips so prettily, and he wants to kiss so badly that it hurts. She hands it back to him, and just as he leans forward to see her face and kiss her, she releases a cloud of smoke and vanishes.

Dean swallows and checks the wall clock. Frank would be here soon. Dean knows he wouldn’t want to see a half-finished product, especially not when he bought so many things for him to use and wear, perhaps under the guise of being gifts for his very young wife.

Oh.

Things click into place.

Frank had been having problems with the wife since before they were even married. Problems he’d _warned_ Frank about. Problems where only he and Frank knew the full story.

Dean looks at himself in the mirror, all dolled up, and suddenly it all makes sense.

Tonight, he was to be a stand-in.

It was no secret that all the guys have done things for each other. When a cute girl reveals she’s sixteen and not twenty or when a girl ups and leaves, well it only seems right for a fella to step in. Sammy liked it smooth, and Joey liked fast. Peter liked it rough, and Frank, well, he was a grab bag, really. It was never just one thing or another with Frank, no matter how much he tried to figure him out. It only stood to reason that that was why he was the one Frank kept picking. The others didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

There’s a knock at the door. Dean quickly dabs some of the perfume behind his ears and under his chin, and calls, “Come in.”

He takes one last look at himself in the mirror. He felt he wore a suit or tux better than an evening gown, but Frank couldn’t say he didn’t try. The door opens and closes, and Dean stands, outwardly appearing calm and comfortable. That was all that really mattered. If this made Frank feel better and kept him out of trouble, then this was the least he could do.

“Jesus, all you need is a good pair of knockers,” Frank says by way of greeting.

Dean cocks his head to the side. What role did Frank want him to play? Was he supposed to be himself or someone else entirely?

“If you pay for it, pal…,” he says noncommittally.

Frank moves further into the room and closer to Dean. He tosses his tux jacket onto the couch on his way into the bedroom area of the suite. Dean stands still as Frank runs a hand gently across his cheek.

“Oh, I already paid for this evening, doll.”

There’s a lot to break apart in just a simple sentence, Dean realizes. “Paid” either meant his little woman knew they were here and was furious or that he paid for his new number and make-up. Or that he paid to get use of him. And, well, maybe he really was the girl tonight after all.

“You just tell me what you need, and I’ll take care of it, baby,” Dean replies.

“Then get on the bed.”

If Frank spoke to him like that under any other circumstances, they would have a problem. It wasn’t right to treat a man like that. But when Frank took charge in the bedroom, it only seemed appropriate to follow his instructions.

“And don’t make that face _me_ , sweetheart. Not unless you want me to teach you some manners.”

Dean reclines back on the bed, black skirt fanning out around him.

“You gonna spank me?” he quips.

He hears Frank chuckle in spite of himself. It put Dean back at ease. He didn’t like it when Frank became so intense.

Dean turns his head to watch Frank undress. He’s so careful not to wrinkle his shirt, but he tosses his bowtie to land wherever it wanted to. His shoes are carefully toed off, but his belt is dropped to the floor. He carefully drapes his shirt and pants over the chair by the vanity, and quite suddenly he’s standing there in his socks and shorts. The socks come off too.

Frank climbs onto the bed with a smile and settles between his legs. He pushes Dean’s skirt out of the way just enough to get to those purple panties.

“You’re not even going to kiss me first?” 

Frank obliges. The red smears all across their mouths, but Dean doesn’t care. Kissing Frank is the best part. He is still gentle and relaxed enough to be slow and tantalizing, and it drives him wild what Frank can do with his mouth. Frank nips where his jaw meets his ear, and Dean whimpers low in throat.

“Atta boy,” Frank murmurs into his neck.

He kisses and licks until he finally makes his way back to Dean’s cherry-red lips.

When they finally pull apart, it looks like Frank has blood on his mouth, and it makes his heart stutter. 

“Satisfied?” Frank asks with a smirk.

“I thought you were gonna eat me alive.”

Frank reaches up his skirt to tease at the edge of his panties and finds them already wet. Just how he liked.

“I just might. You want me to eat you, pretty girl?”

Dean whimpers. Frank continues touching him, and he feels his dick jump.

“Am I?” he asks. “Am I your girl?”

Frank’s response is push his skirt up the rest of the way and slip himself under it. Dean bends his knees to help Frank get his constricting underwear off, and suddenly his mouth is on him. Dean curses under his breath and grips the comforter underneath him with white knuckles.

When was the last time he’d gotten a blow job anyway?

From the back of his mind, his dream girl returns. She looks at him, and then she looks at Frank with questioning eyes. She smirks at him as she watches. _I could do better than him_ , her smile says. Dean believes her. But then Frank does something with his tongue, and his eyes slam shut, and when he opens them again, she’s gone.

“Keep doing that, and this night’ll be over before it really starts,” Dean pants.

Frank huffs a laugh and shows his face again, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“Are you complaining?”

Dean stares up at the ceiling, unable to look Frank in the eye right now. If he did, he knows he’d either come on the spot or chicken out. Getting fucked wasn’t really his preference, but Frank wouldn’t be here if he didn’t need him. He can’t imagine Frank would pick him if he had another girl lined up.

“I’m not complaining, pal. I just know you want something else, is all.”

“You bet your sweet ass, Dino.”

He tries to be cool as Frank gets off the bed, presumably in search of oil. Frank was big and Dean was nervous, and he knew that was a terrible combination. He should’ve had a drink or two to calm his nerves. Slow and steady, Frank was not. He should’ve done this part himself.

Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve. Well, it was too late for that now. Frank had found the baby oil in the make-up bag and was making his way back to the bed, conspicuously more aroused than he had been when he arrive.

Frank climbs back on the bed and squirts some of the clear liquid onto his palms. He rubs his hands together to warm it, and then suddenly puts his hands back on Dean.

“You gonna treat me right, baby?” Dean husks, thrusting up into Frank’s broad hand.

“Ain’t no other way to go.”

Dean smiles and bites his lower lip. God, how that charm melted him into a pool of putty. No wonder all those young things dropped to their knees in front of him. His little wife didn’t stand a chance. And apparently neither did he.

Frank’s hands shift from his dick to his ass, and then he knows that Frank isn’t messing around anymore. One finger becomes two becomes three, which Dean would say was overkill, but then he slits his eyes open to watch Frank slip out of his shorts, and suddenly he wonders if three fingers will be enough.

“You ready?” Frank huffs, already out of breath from all the buildup.

Briefly, he thinks he sees his dream girl over Frank’s shoulder. He hopes she’ll join them. He wouldn’t mind having her sandwiched between the two of them.

But then he feels Frank’s dick press against him, and she’s gone again. So much for pretending…

“C’mon, Frankie. Just do it.”

There’s a sustained moment where everything hurts and everything is sharp, but then, bit by bit, Frank thrusts in and out of him, and things tilt back into balance.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dean murmurs.

Frank laughs breathlessly.

“You sure know how to stroke a man’s ego, Dino.”

“Just your ego?”

“Stuff it.”

Dean’s about to interject again, but Frank cuts him off with more kisses. Wet and open, and so dirty, Dean knows he’ll need to brush twice tonight. And then Frank starts talking.

“You know I didn’t mean that, don’t you? You know you’re my sweet girl. You’re a cute kid.”

He whispers it low in his ear and against his neck, never once slowing his hips. The unexpectedly tender words send liquid heat straight to his dick. And damn it, he knows Frank is only saying it because he’s a girl for tonight. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it at all.

He knew what this was going to be. He was being naïve. He should be past this sort of infatuation with Frank by now.

But then Frank moans, “I need you, baby,” and suddenly things get fuzzy again.

A few traitorous tears sneak out like he’s the star of a soap opera, and he scolds himself for acting so tragic and desperate.

“Aw, honey, don’t cry,” Frank whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

Dean can’t help himself. Frank has him gasping and moaning low and coming hard all over the black satin and tulle of the dress. There’s such a mess on his dress, and he’s stupidly glad that he didn’t use the mascara or else it would be all over his face and the pillows. Even so, he’s a mess; a great big terrible mess.

And god, when he comes, Frank quickly follows suit. He loudly grunts with each emission, pumping through it until finally he, too, drops to the bed in exhaustion.

Dean sighs deeply. It was over. He wraps tired arms around Frank’s middle and prays to god that Frank’s little woman appreciates what he’s just done.


End file.
